The Pianist
by Freya Sacksen
Summary: Al gets invited to jam, a spindle plays the piano and Ed gets some moody introspection. Implied onesided Elricest


The Pianist

_Summary_: Second part of the 'Strangers' series. Al gets invited to jam, a spindle plays the piano and Ed gets some moody introspection. Implied one-sided Elricest

* * *

The bar was stuffy as all hell. Cigarette smoke drifted through the air, making Ed cough and Al creak.

"Be glad you can't smell, Al," said Ed, smothering a cough, "This isn't something you want to experience,"

"I can barely see through the smoke, Brother,"

"Yeah, well, he said he'd meet us here," Ed started coughing again, "Who's 'he' anyway?"

"I couldn't really say. All I know is I got told he knows everything there is to know about the…"

"Less legal?"

"…Side of the city,"

Off to one side, something began to gently tinkle. It sounded soft, gentle, but very firm. Sweet, and heavy, like perfume.

Somebody was playing the piano.

_(It's nine'o'clock on the Saturday…)_

"Whoa," said Ed, "That's…one helluva pianist,"

It wasn't that the tune was complex. A beginner could learn it, given enough time. It was the way he made it _sound_. This man could make a peacock sing beautifully.

The only thing Al and Ed could think of as they sat there was how sad the song was.

_(Son, can you play me a melody? _

_I'm not really sure how it goes_

_But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete_

_When I wore a younger man's clothes…)_

The entire bar was falling silent over the man's song. Ed was bursting to ask Al (_sing us a song)_ what else he knew about the man they were meant to meet-or about what this 'less legal' side was-or about why (_you're the piano man)_ he met them here exactly…Ed wanted Al to talk, because otherwise, all he'd do is end up losing (_sing us a song tonight)_ his voice to the whole to the cacophony of music in his head, and he wasn't sure he could bear that. Talking would ease the pressure, but if he listened too long, who knows what would come out?

Who knows…

_(And you got us feelin' alright.)_

"Wow," said Al, "He's amazing,"

"Yeah," said Ed, looking at his lap, "Amazing,"

(…_And the piano sounds like a carnival_

_And the microphone smells like a beer_

_And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar_

_And say 'Man, what are you doing here?')_

The pianist stood up as the keys died down. He twisted, and gave an elaborate bow. Ed looked at him, deciding that that was better than to try and open his mouth. The tall, spindly spider of a man straightened and spotted Al. A long smile spread over his face and he walked down towards him.

Ed suddenly felt a bizarre feeling of possession, and, dammit, he was _his_ brother, you're not taking him!

"Hey, kid," he said, "Mind if I sit?"

"No, of course not," said Al, "My name's…er…Alexander,"

Ed gave Al an odd look. What's with lying about his name?

"Well, Alexander," said the spindle man, "You can call me the Pianist. But you, Alex, you look like a pianist as well,"

"Er…what?" said Al.

"I saw the way your fingers were twitching when I was playing," said the Pianist, "How 'bout you come and jam with me?"

"Er…sure," the tone of Al's voice was clear: How the heck was he gonna play this one?

After a couple of moments of frustration, a seat was arranged for Al, and he and the Pianist sat there.

"Pick a rhythm, Metal Man," said the Pianist.

"…Six-eight,"

"Tone?"

"None. Melody in treble clef, harmony in bass,"

"Nice," said the Pianist, "You're just setting me up for trouble, aren't you?"

From far off, Ed could watch the two bicker like old friends and felt…odd. The Elric brothers had done everything together but this…this was a place the two had never gone together. Ed had never had any patience with music, finding alternately too simple and too complex in comparison to Alchemy.

It was odd. Ed buried himself so completely in Alchemy, but Al was the one who was able to switch it off. Switch it off long enough to learn the piano from mom, switch it off enough to help mom do the laundry, switch it off long enough to watch her cook (although the instant 'pie' or 'cake' came into the equation, both brothers would be there, eyes wide as plates and pleading).

Al had gone somewhere Ed couldn't and his reward for living a life outside of the magic that streamed through his fingers was to be trapped in metal for the rest of his days.

_(I heard there was a secret chord…) _

Ed snapped bold upright. He'd been zoning out, and had almost missed their starting jam. It was the reason for his reverie (in part, at least), the soft jazz that spun in lazy streams around him.

(…_The fourth, the fifth_

_The minor fall_

_The major lift_

_The baffled king composing_

_Hallelujah…)_

Ed listened to the sweet tune, as it twirled from jazz to blues to something he couldn't name, listening to the Pianist altering the melody to suit his tastes, whilst Al kept up perfectly in time, even jerking the Pianist a little sometimes with an accidental here or there, but he always kept up.

(…_Her beauty and the moonlight_

_Overthrew you,_

_She tied you to a kitchen chair…)_

Who was singing, anyway? Wondered Ed, too sleepy to care. (_she broke your throne)_ All he cared about was how lovely the song was, and how it made even the cigarette smoke seem as lovely as _(she cut your hair)_ fog on mountains.

He watched, dazed, as his little brother did something _(and from your lips)_ he couldn't, and it didn't bother him. At all.

_(Hallelujah…)_

_(Love is not a victory march_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah…)_

After all, he could do plenty of things Al couldn't…right? Of course he could. It was only fair…equivalent exchange and all that… _(Hallelujah_) Ed watched his little brother through half-lidded eyes, waiting…although he wasn't quite sure for _(Hallelujah)_ what._(Hallelujah_)

_(And remember when I moved in you_

_The holy dark was moving too_

_And every breath we drew_

_Was Hallelujah)_

Ed shuddered. The words were striking a little too close to home. He stood up, watching Al, before shaking his head, as if to get rid of something from it, and walking to the bathroom, trying to _(Hallelujah)_ get away from _(Hallelujah)_

_(Maybe there's a God above)_

Edward froze as he began leave their booth. Slowly, he turned to look at Al and the Pianist.

_(And all I ever learned from love _

_Was how to shoot at someone_

_Who outdrew you._

_And it's not a cry you can hear at night_

_It's not somebody who's seen the light_

_It's a cold and it's a _

_Broken Hallelujah.)_

Ed slowly sat back down and rested his face in his hands. His brother had gone where he couldn't, and this spider spindle was helping…

But…

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

Something about the chorus was bothering Ed this time. It's was soft, and slow, slowing down like syrup, and then suddenly, it was brought back to life, snapping him out of his reverie sharply.

_Hallelujah _

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

And the last line ebbed out and out, a collection of notes that Ed couldn't help but think of as his…

* * *

**A/N:** Both of these songs exist: The first is Billy Joel's 'Piano Man'. The second is Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah'. Yes, Shrek fans, you have indeed heard it before, and yes, in the arrangement at least, it _does_ have six-eight timing and it _doesn't_ have a key.

With that out of the way, a note on songfics:

Anybody with even a passing knowledge of songs will know that I have chopped these lyrics down something awful. There is a reason, and it's something that I don't think has quite entered the minds of songfic writers everywhere.

It is this: The song is the SUPPLEMENT, _NOT_ the story. You aren't writing a music movie scripts, people, you're writing a _story_. And if the story is merely an amalgam of images from the song strung together, then _keep it in your head_ because what you're trying to write is_ fiction_, not a _bloody soundtrack._

_That's_ why I have chopped the lyrics to pieces in the way I have. Because _that_ is how they fit the story. I use them to try and help get the mood along, as well as provide background noise to Ed's thoughts.

(sigh)

So many songs, not enough time…


End file.
